Many, many moons ago, all over the world people used to fret forever about whether their sheep would lamb and their cattle calve and their corn grow high before the harvest time. So every year, by way of a spiritual guarantee, they raised one of their young men to the status of a fertility god and worshipped him until the following Spring. Then they killed him and put another man, even younger and more strapping, in his place, believing his fresh vigour would continue to guarantee them meat and cereals in abundance. Later, it occurred to these mortal gods to have their sons conveniently sacrificed in their place (echoes of this practice can be found in the story of Abraham and Isaac). Later still, it was decided to make a condemned criminal into the god, given that he was due to be lapidated - or crucified - anyway. Before his execution, the local population fornicated to its heart's content, in a magical attempt to stimulate the growth of the crop and the tupping of the livestock.
Over the centuries, this ancient ritual involving group sex and human sacrifice was slowly mitigated into today's Carnival. I mention this in the hope that primary school teachers around Catalonia will come to the conclusion that this festival is really not at all suitable for young children, which would mean that me and my girlfriend would then not have to spend three bloody nights in a row sewing bits of coloured cloth onto our kids' clothes only to realise we've botched the job and then have to rush out at the last minute to purchase two ridiculously over-priced fancy dress outfits, every sodding February. And not a Bacchanalia in sight to make up for the inconvenience.